


First contact - A Melody Powers story

by Ozferret



Category: Daria (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 22:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18417536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozferret/pseuds/Ozferret
Summary: This was my first foray into Fan-Fic writing.It is a tale of an inexperienced beginner being shot down by more experenced players.It's a metaphor.





	1. Chapter 1

First contact.

His heart pounded in his chest, drowning out all other noises. He shook his head.

“How was he supposed to listen for intruders with all this noise?” he wondered.

This was his big chance. He listened hard and heard the soft sea breeze rattle some discarded papers. He poked his head around the corner and scanned the dimly lit service alley. He considered, not for the first time, that perhaps he should have removed the pile of old packing crates that littered the tight corridor.

“Too late now”, he mused to himself.

Crouching back in his hiding place he looked at the heavy, old revolver Big Man had given him. This was a sure sign that organisation had noticed him. They had given him a gun. It had only three bullets and it had taken most of a week to get the rust off. But it was his chance to make big.

Big Man’s words echoed in his ears, “Guard this alley. If anyone comes down it, kill them. This is an important meeting and we don’t want it disturbed.”

Who would be coming? The alley he guarded was far from main roads. No wandering drunk or shadow-seeking lovers would come this way.

The thought of lovers reminded him of his own Maria. Beautiful Maria. Frustrating Maria. He shook his head. Maria had strange ideas. Ideas like reading, and getting a job. And going to “America”.  He had tried to tell her this was America too, but she would not listen.

Jobs were for men, home was for women. That was what his father said. He hated his father. How do you say you love a woman then treat her like his mother was treated?

He hoped his father would come down the alley.

He vowed, he would never raise his hand in anger against a woman. Never!

He shook his head again, “Focus, focus” he muttered to himself and he froze, not breathing.

There is was again, the sound of a foot step in the alley. Mustering his courage, he sprang out, his gun swing up to point at the woman.

Woman?

He hesitated for a moment and then his gun roared, filling the alley with flame and thunder.

He had hesitated, she had not.

He had missed, she had not.

His legs, suddenly useless, gave out beneath him. His arms now too heavy to lift, dropped the gun. Flat on his back he desperately tried to recover his lost weapon but his arms were no longer his to command.

A black leather boot pressed on his chest. He looked up to a beautiful face unsullied by any trace of emotion.

“Dying in a filthy back alley. Your Mother will be proud”.

Melody Powers stood a few seconds more over the cooling body. She had not expected a guard this far out. Now it was going to get noisy.

 


	2. La Danse Macabre.

 

Melody was irritated. Things have not started well .The idiot with the revolver had been a doorbell not a guard and she rung him loud and clear. No crying over spilt commie blood but now she was expecting trouble.

Before her was one of these pointless open spaces made by the careless lack of planning typical of the underside of cities.  Three or four alleys met in one spot. A perfect place for a trap. She was not setting it; she hoped she was not springing it. Time to find out. Moving sharply across the opening. Movement to her left. Her gun came up. Wait. She knew him.

 

In that slow moment of incipient mayhem they watched each down the length of their respective gun barrels.

 "Travis ". She said

"’Ello Mel.", he replied, “I’d heard a whisper you might be in town.”

 She frowned. "I work alone" she said

 He inclined his head in acknowledgement.

 He carefully took a photo from his jacket pocket.

Her gun didn't waiver. Nor did it speak.

 The photo, a portrait of a young woman. Short black hair, red jacket over a black shirt. Nothing out of the ordinary

He nodded up to the large factory behind them "She's up in there. Will you spare the Raven haired girl?" he asked

 

"No promises" she said, "stay out of my way and you can tag along. What are you packing?”

"5.7" he replied, "You?”

"22 sub" she said

 

Travis's eyebrows arched. He was impressed "You're not worried about armour?”

"Nobody armours their eyelids” she replied

 

The meeting was before them. Only corpses behind. They had outpaced the news of their arrival. Everyone she wanted was there. Cover served no further purpose. She stepped out.

 

Melody loved this part.

A dance. The dance.

All the players in place. The looks of surprise, of recognition, of fear.

Time slowed.

Noise receded.

Gracefully, her silenced pistol rose, spat and moved on.

Turn, target, kill.

Their panicked scramble, almost comic. Melody smiled.

Now began the counterpoint to this Melody. Their rushed shots of no concern to her, it merely identified her next victim. 

Turn, aim, kill, move on.

She was aware of Travis, his gun punching neat groups of three. Blood triangles in those before him.

Aware of the body guards.

Twist, pause, kill.

The gentle breath of a passing bullet ruffled her hair. It was sweeter when the opposition put in the effort.

She silently thanked her mother for enforced childhood ballet.

 Aware of the local gangster rising from his hiding place, shotgun in hand.

Turn, aim, kill.

Aware of the third eye blossoming on his forehead.

For one long beautiful, clear, crystal moment she was aware of everything.

Magazine release. Magazine replace. Slide release.

Turn, shoot, kill.

And kill and kill.

La Danse Macabre.

Now the finale.

The fat general turned politician commie. His terror making him clumsy. Grasping for his pistol as he struggled to escape his chair.

Three shots. Heart, throat, head.

Each in elegant fatal precision, perfect.

The music stopped.

The euphoria faded. The cold dirty world returned. The armour that protected her soul from the world settled back into place.

One commie general. Two elite Military guards. Six professional bodyguards,. A handful of drug dealers. One international kidnapper and uncounted thugs with guns. It had been a good night.

"Done?" She asked

"Done" Travis agreed.

She looked at him. Blood tricked down the gash in his jacket sleave.

"I'll be gone by noon tomorrow.” She said.

"Duly noted."

Travis hoisted the drugged girl onto his uninjured shoulder and disappeared into the sound of an approaching helicopter.

 

He found her in an all but deserted bar drinking illegally over-proof rum. They danced Argentinian tango in a club so smoky you could not see the walls from the dance floor. They shared nature’s most life affirming experience, traced the road works of scars that illustrated each other’s bodies.

 

In the morning she lay uncovered and unabashed watching him dress.

"It's a change to sleep with someone I don't plan to kill" she said.

"A pleasant change?" he asked

"Just different"

He eased his freshly stitch shoulder into his freshly pressed Linen Jacket. The action served as a shrug.

"I work alone" she reminded.

"Our paths crossed, nothing more" he said.

He closed the door gently behind him.

She lay back satisfied. The world was a better place.

For a little while.

END


End file.
